Poems (Greenwood)/Therese
THERESE.
A rose once pressed against thy lips, Then gayly flung to me, Is all the gift I treasure up In memory of thee; It bringeth back that golden time, Too beautiful to last,The glad and love-lit past, Therese, The glad and love-lit past!
Then comes the memory of the change Which fell upon thy heart, As falls the frost upon the rose When summer suns depart; And now returns that weary time With doubts and glooms o'ercast, The sad and mournful past, Therese, The sad and mournful past!
Young flowers, fair, quickly fading flowers, Love's sweetest emblems they,For naught in life so fitly marks Its swift and sure decay; O type of that frail, passing faith So fondly set apart To wither in its early dew, And die upon my heart!